


Just My Cover, Sweetheart

by newboldtrue



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-11-09 01:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newboldtrue/pseuds/newboldtrue
Summary: Wendy threw a disbelieving glance at the woman in her passenger seat. “Have I had lunch? I just attended my own funeral, haven’t much been in the mood for eating.”or,Son Seungwan is leaving her life as a hitman in the past--but when a dead woman criticizes her epitaph and offers her one last job, she finds herself agreeing to help. Wendy isn't quite sure what she's signed herself up for.





	1. Shakespeare?

She lay down a single white lily on the stone, bowing her head. It only took seconds for snow to cover the blossom in a fine coat. Wendy brushed her gloved hand over the flat headstone at her feet, smiling softly. It was a beautiful, glossy granite, but Wendy’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. Her fingers traced the letters slowly.  
  
_Son Seungwan_  
_1927-1953_  
_And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest._  
  
She stood, taking a moment to brush snow off her black overcoat. Faking one’s own death was one thing, but attending the funeral was truly another. It was an odd sight, and it should have been heartwarming—and it wasn’t as if she had that many connections to begin with. A close friend here and there and extended family whom she had barely known; ultimately, a somber event, but otherwise forgettable—which was, she supposed, the purpose of the entire ordeal. She moved to leave—people were dispersing, attending to matters more important than the loss of a once-familiar name.  
  
"Shakespeare?" came a voice to her left. Gentle, but unexpected. Unexpected was never good.  
  
Wendy kept walking. She felt around the pocket of her coat for a tissue, pushing aside her knife. Who on earth would make small talk at a funeral? “I suppose so,” she murmured, dabbing at her dry eyes.  
  
"A bit pretentious, isn't it?" the stranger said, jogging for three quick steps to catch up. She moved in front of Wendy, partially barring her path to her car. Wendy stopped, eyes fixed to the ground, keeping the brim of her hat over her eyes.  
  
When the woman did not move or speak, Wendy forced herself to glance up.  
  
Wendy prided herself on many things (although she would only admit it to very close friends). She was very good at her job--both her daytime one and night--and she was very good at adapting. This time, though, Wendy could not stop herself from the tiny step back she took, blinking a few times to ensure her eyes were not playing tricks. There, against the trodden snow, clad in a pristine white peacoat with frozen flakes atop her crown:  
  
How could she forget?  
Bae Joohyun, former intelligence operative.  
Eliminated--by Wendy herself--three years ago.


	2. 1953 Chrysler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy pushed open the door and grumbled quietly. She seemed to be at a quaint little house, unassuming--almost picturesque, if Wendy wasn't still wondering if this was where she was about to be interrogated. Or die.
> 
> Perhaps both.
> 
> _And yet you still follow her,_ Wendy thought.
> 
> “Are you coming, Seungwan?”

"You seem startled," Joohyun deadpanned, beginning to walk forward.

"Bae Joohyun," Wendy muttered, still rooted to her position. "It’s not possible."

The woman shrugged, increasing the distance between the two of them. "You aren't the only one with connections, Miss Son Seungwan,” she said, brushing a bit of snow off her shoulder carelessly. "Are you going to stand there all day? You'll catch a cold. We wouldn’t want that."

Wendy huffed incredulously, forcing her legs to move toward the apparently-alive woman. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "How, then?" she asked. "Who do you work for? Will you be trying to kill me?"

Joohyun hummed, making a sharp right turn. Wendy followed. "I'm not trying to kill you, Miss Son. If I were, you would be dead," she said, and Wendy was sure she wasn't imagining the teasing undertone in her voice. "Who do I work for?" she echoed. "Myself, I suppose. You killed me, remember?"

"Clearly not," Wendy interjected.

"And how? Well, Miss Son, remind me--whose funeral are we currently attending?"

Well, the woman wasn’t wrong. "It's Wendy," she said, "and that is certainly not what I asked and you know it.”

Joohyun shrugged. “Isn’t it what you asked, Seungwan?” She hummed again, stopping in her tracks. Wendy nearly ran into the woman, coming to a halt a fraction of an inch behind her.

“This is my car,” she said, ending the statement in a deadpan but intent full of question.

“It is,” Joohyun replied. The woman fished a key out of her pristine coat pocket, tossing it to Wendy. “You’re driving.”

Furrowing her brow, Wendy pulled her own key out of her pocket. “I have my own key, you know. Where did you even get this?”

“Get in the car. I’ll tell you where to go.”

Wendy sighed, pocketing her new extra key. It didn’t seem like she would be getting much in the way of answers yet, and she had to admit--she was curious. Wendy was not a woman that liked to be bested, and yet here Bae Joohyun was, in the flesh. With some exaggerated attitude, Wendy slid into the driver’s seat. The other woman was already seated and taking off her gloves.

As Wendy busied herself with the ignition, the woman spoke. “Hopped-up 1953 Chrysler Imperial? You don’t seem much like a Chrysler kind of girl.”

Wendy quirked a brow, edging out of the cemetery parking lot. “And I didn’t take you for a cars kind of girl. Either way, you need to be directing me where to go, or I’m driving straight home and leaving you out here in the countryside.” She paused. “And this hopped-up 1953 Chrysler has got air conditioning.”

Joohyun hummed again. She twisted the rear-view mirror towards herself, fixing her perfectly curled hair. Wendy rolled her eyes.

“Left,” Joohyun said abruptly.

Wendy scowled, swerving to make the turn. Joohyun smoothly braced herself. “A little more warning would be appreciated, thanks. The snow isn’t exactly the kindest environment, and that back there might be my real funeral real quick.”

“You’re welcome,” Joohyun replied, but said, “take a right in about ten blocks. Have you had lunch?”

Wendy threw a disbelieving glance at the woman in her passenger seat. “ _Have I had lunch?_ I just attended my own funeral, haven’t much been in the mood for eating.”

“Eyes on the road, please.”

“Jesus,” Wendy muttered, facing forward again. She took a right turn. For a few minutes, the car was blessedly silent.

Then Joohyun sighed, as if Wendy were the one being exasperating. “You’ll get your answers when we arrive, Seungwan.

“And where, exactly, will we be arriving at?” Wendy asked.

“Here,” Joohyun said after a few moments. She unbuckled her seatbelt and moved to get out. Wendy stared at the ceiling of her car. Was the woman able to give a straightforward answer to anything?

Wendy pushed open the door and grumbled quietly. She seemed to be at a quaint little house, unassuming--almost picturesque, if Wendy wasn't still wondering if this was where she was about to be interrogated. Or die.

Perhaps both.

_And yet you still follow her,_ Wendy thought.

“Are you coming, Seungwan?”

She sighed. “I’m coming.”

Joohyun busied herself with unlocking the front door. “Here’s the thing, Seungwan,” she began. “You,” she said, tossing open the door, “must vow to never speak of any of the following to another soul unless explicitly given permission to.”

Wendy blinked. “What?”

“I actually have a physical written contract, if that makes you feel more comfortable.” She led the way into the small house that smelled distantly of tea and linens. She gestured for Wendy to sit at the small dining table, turning away to apparently put a kettle on the stove. “I was going to give that to you at the end, but we could deal with it first if you would rather.”

Wendy sat. “I…”

“You’re right. You can read over it at the end. Are you ready for answers, Seungwan?”

“It’s Wendy--but… yes. Please.”

Joohyun turned to face her, leaning gently against the countertop. “As you know, I was an intelligence operative for a good handful of years--foreign affairs, mostly. I was obviously undercover for most of my years there--it may be 1953, but you know as well as I that women are not taken seriously in the field.”

Wendy snorted, nodding a silent _amen_.

“You know all this, of course--so why do I tell you? One day, you received a manila envelope in the mail with my photo, my description and rather specific instruction, and a promise for enough cash to last you the next decade.

“So, you did your job. You did your own research, ensured this wasn't some enemy ploy to ruin your career. You went out, slipped a dose of saxitoxin into my glass, and within the hour, you watched me die.”

“I checked for breathing,” Wendy whispered. “I checked your pulse. Your heat signature was diminishing. You were gone.”

Joohyun shook her head. “You seem to be familiar with your Shakespeare. _‘Here’s drink--’_ ”

“ _‘I drink to thee.’_ A staged death--you swapped out my supply. Oh my _god_ ,” Wendy muttered. How the woman got into her materials was just another mystery to add to the list. Her mind spun with other targets who may still be alive and going about their daily lives. “It’s an American experimental chemical, and you showed all the symptoms. How did you know I would… how many others…”

“Relax, Seungwan. As far as I know, I am your first failed target--and as far as I know, there are less people on this earth that know this fact than fingers on my right hand,” Joohyun explained, turning to attend to the now-whistling kettle. “Of course, I sent you that manila envelope myself. I’m sure you understand what I mean when I say I may have uncovered some secrets not meant for my eyes.”

_‘Of course,’ she says, as if I should have already come to that conclusion._ “Right. So why not do it yourself?” Wendy asked, trying to understand. “Save a yourself the buck.”

“I wanted to make sure it was done right. What I found that day was--not just indicative of internal corruption--but apparently, a catalyst.” she explained.

Wendy tapped her chin, filling in when Joohyun hesitated. “It got personal.”

A cup of tea was placed in front of her, and Joohyun joined her at the table. “It did.”

Joohyun did not elaborate, and Wendy did not ask.

She turned her gaze to the steaming cup in front of her, fiddling with the handle. She still did not understand, but her sense of apprehension was fading. What had Joohyun found to prompt not only a threat from her employers, but a full-fledged fake death? What more did she want from Wendy?

“It’s not poisoned, you know. I didn’t bring you here and tell you my life story just to kill you immediately,” Joohyun said, laughing to herself.

“Why am I here?” Wendy asked, tired of beating around the bush. “I did my job and you paid me. It’s been three years. If it wasn’t clear from you attending my funeral, I’m suspending that line of work.”

Joohyun nodded. “I understand. And I understand if you have no interest in working with me at this time. However, I will be honest with you--I need someone of your caliber. This is a personal matter for me, but for you, this is just another job, with perhaps a more significant moral impact than any prior one.” She sipped her tea and rested her elbows on the table. “We work only with the best, of course.”

“We?” Wendy repeated, eyes flicking to the dark doorway. She supposed it was reassuring that if Joohyun were still planning to kill her, it would be at least be two-on-one and thus far less humiliating if she had lost to Joohyun alone. As if on cue (personally, Wendy was starting to suspect this had, in fact, been rehearsed for full dramatic effect), another woman emerged from the shadows. Clad in a trendy striped shirt tucked into high-waisted green shorts, the woman pushed herself off the wall she was leaning on to give a mock-bow.

“The name’s Park Sooyoung, but call me Joy.”

Wendy stood and stepped forward to shake the woman’s hand, fighting down a smirk at the strong grip. _The woman likes to prove her power_. “What's that, a codename? You got an alias too?” she muttered, looking over at Joohyun.

She smiled, putting down her cup to toss a business card to Wendy.

_Definitely rehearsed_ , Wendy noted.

Catching it, she read it aloud. “ _Velvet Detective Agency._ ” She flipped the card, scanning the words. For a job with no promised pay, Wendy had to admit she was infinitely curious. There was something else she was not being told, and Wendy had a sneaking suspicion that she would regret not siding with Joohyun--at least, for now. “ _Irene, Private Investigator_.” Her eyes flicked back to her potential new employer.

Irene stood, chair screeching as it slid back. “So, what do you say?”

“You already know, don’t you?”

Bae Joohyun-- _Irene_ \--gave a pleasant laugh. “Welcome to the team, Wendy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm new to the period-piece genre as a whole, so let me know what y'all think! This is also my first Red Velvet multi-chapter fic, and overall, a new venture.


	3. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are all of your associates female?" Wendy interjected.
> 
> Joy gave something that was partially a pleasant smile and partially an insufferable smirk. "Do you happen to take issue with women, Seungwan?"
> 
> "First of all, don't call me that." Wendy clamped her mouth shut for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what her second point was supposed to be.

“So?” Wendy asked, starting to feel uncomfortable under some intense scrutiny from the other two women. She twisted the teacup in her hands. “What is it you want from me?”

“I’m building a team,” Irene said. “Joy is a talented grifter. An actress by day, she can convince nearly anyone to do anything--simultaneously a perfect middleman for intel and a distraction, if need be.”

“I've never heard of her,” Wendy muttered.

“Well, I didn't say she was a _big_ actress,” Irene pointed out.

“Hey--”

“So you’re a con artist,” Wendy said, turning to her. She kept her voice level, removing traces of curiosity. “A scammer.”

Joy shrugged a shoulder, leaning her elbows on the dining table. “A very good one,” Joy agreed.

Wendy stopped spinning her teacup, bemused. “If I may ask, Irene, what's an ex-intelligence agent doing in a house with a con artist?” she asked, finally, hesitantly, sipping at the room-temperature tea. 

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Joy said, voice full of insinuation and innuendo, but when Wendy turned to stare at her, the woman was startlingly straight-faced.

Perhaps the woman was better at this job than Wendy was giving her credit for. “Excuse me?”

Irene smiled, somewhat apologetically. “Don’t listen to her. She loves to kid. Joy and I… we--we have worked together in the past, and--”

“It's okay, Irene. You can say it. It's not a bad word,” Joy prompted, to Wendy’s increasing confusion. She lifted her brows and looked at Irene expectantly.

Irene blinked at Joy in turn.

“It's called _friendship_ , Irene,” Joy said, smug at her own joke. “We’re _friends_.”

Wendy rolled her eyes and Irene groaned.

"Your role, Wendy," Irene continued, "is the mercenary--the metaphorical muscle and field expert. We need someone who can take people out without a hitch, and you are very clearly trained in weaponry and quite the selection of hand-to-hand combat techniques."

She frowned. "What do you mean metaphorical?" At least, she supposed, she was getting the recognition she deserved. Beneath her initial thoughts, she mind itched for a number, a price--some sort of tangible pay for this job. “Also, before you continue--what’s in it for me?”

Irene gave yet another exasperated sigh. Personally, Wendy thought it was a very reasonable question. “Upholding good morals and helping maintain human integrity?” she tried.

Wendy stared.

“And three thousand, cash.”

Wendy squinted. “Five thousand.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joy grin at Irene’s hesitancy.

“... Four thousand,” Irene tried, “and consider that this is a team of five, not one.”

If she hadn’t already been surprised at three thousand dollars, she was at the team. Five was a small enough team that suggested genuine trust would be required, and she was certain that wasn’t listed on her contract. “Four thousand,” she agreed--it was more than she had seen in quite some years for a single job. _Suspicious_. Where did these two get the money?

“Who else have you got your eye on?” she asked instead.

Irene reached behind her, brushing her sleeve against Wendy’s chair to grab a folder off to the side. “I’ve been doing some research--”

Wendy shot her hand out, snatching the folder out of the woman’s hands. “Kang Seulgi?” She pulled the folder closer to her face, examining the taped photo closely. It was pixelated and in washed-out colors, but if it wasn't Seulgi, it was her twin--and Wendy had known Seulgi long enough to know she had never had a twin. In fact, she had helped her move into the apartment the photo had been taken at. “What do you want with her?”

Irene raised a brow; exchanged a glance with Joy. “You're acquainted.” Somehow, Irene made it sound like a statement instead of a question.

Childhood memories and a friendship cut short just hours prior; if Wendy were to have told anyone about faking her own death, it should have been her closest friend, not someone who she thought she had killed years ago. A deep breath, and a sigh. "I know her," Wendy said. If she was going to be interrogated by these strangers, she wasn't about to bother giving out information for free. Frankly, with the amount of research Irene seemed to have done, she was surprised they did not already know.

"That's very vague," Joy pointed out.

"Yes," Wendy said.

Irene sighed. "Let's not make this difficult. It doesn't matter, either way--Seulgi will be our transport."

"Transport?"

"Getaway driver--whatever you would like to call it."

Wendy stared. Was Seulgi even a good driver? "Seulgi isn't a criminal." _Not like the rest of us_.

Irene took the folder from her hands, quick enough to threaten paper cuts. Wendy rubbed the undersides of her fingers with her thumb. "That never seemed to stop you from doing your job, so let me do mine."

Joy whistled. "Low blow."

"Shut up," Wendy and Irene said in unison. She could worry about Seulgi later. Seulgi would be the best person of all of them--and if Wendy could help it, Seulgi wouldn't get involved at all.

"There's also one more," Irene added, after a distinct pause. "She's--"

"Are all of your associates female?" Wendy interjected.

Joy gave something that was partially a pleasant smile and partially an insufferable smirk. "Do you happen to take issue with women, Seungwan?"

"First of all, don't call me that." Wendy clamped her mouth shut for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what her second point was supposed to be.

"Anyway," Irene said, this time haltingly, "her name is Kim Yerim. Excellent breaking-and-entering skills.

"Kim Yerim..." Had she heard that name before? "What does she do for a living?" Wendy asked, trying to pinpoint the familiarity.

Irene shifted in her seat, taking a sip of her room-temperature tea before responding. "She's a student."

"Oh," she said. "What university?"

"In high school," Irene added, quieter.

It took a moment for that statement to sink in. When it did, Wendy stood, chair scraping against the tile as it nearly fell backwards. "She's a child?"

Next to her, Joy put her hand on Wendy's shoulder, pushing her back into the chair. Wendy fall back into it solidly, hearing it scrape a few more inches back. "Sit down, she's the best at what she does."

"But if she--"

"She is barely younger than us, and Joy is right--she's the one we need. Inconspicuous, small, clever. I've been keeping tabs on her for a few years.”

Wendy busied her hands with unrolling and rerolling her sleeves. “Fine, not my problem. When do we start?”

Joy glanced at her wristwatch, pursing her lips. “We seek out Kang Seulgi in approximately 45 minutes. Explore the house for the time being, if you wish.”

 

* * *

 

_Seulgi_. Wendy couldn’t remember the first time they met, but she could remember every weekend trip and late study night they had. Kitchen adventures to philosophical discussions, the years they had been friends were very dear to her.

She missed the girl; that was for sure.

When Wendy had first accepted a target--which she had learned to inconspicuously call _jobs_ \--she had been so close to telling Seulgi the whole scenario. It was always at the tip of her tongue, and yet…

And now, years down the road, Wendy had been driven to abandon her old life, including Seulgi. She hadn't spoken her in months--hadn't even seen her in years. Seulgi would believe her dead. Guilt was not Wendy’s favorite emotion, and it was starting to nibble at her conscience.

40 minutes.

Wendy began to make her way around the quaint house that had become the headquarters for this operation. She wandered down the hallway Joy had first emerged from, noting the bleakness of the walls. _At least_ , she figured, _it means no one actually lives here._

Peeking into the first room, she encountered nothing of interest: a small bathroom, fitted with a shower and a few stray toiletries. She moved down the hallway and-- _is this a bedroom?_

A few steps more and she stood in front of an unmade bed, a small knapsack and a half-zipped duffle bag. _Is this where Joy stays?_

The half-filled closet certainly suggested it, at least, all bright and bold hues with not a single button-up in sight.

“Never seen a bed before?”

Wendy had heard her approach, but wanted answers. “Do you sleep here?”

Joy stepped inside. “That is generally what people do in bedrooms, yes. Although--”

Wendy rushed to stop the thought. “No, I mean you stay here? In this house? Don't you have your own place?”

“I do. You're standing in it.”

This was not expected. “Why?”

“Ask Irene,” Joy offered, and leaned back against her own plain bed. “Or join me, if--”

Wendy closed the door behind her as she left the room, continuing down the hall. Another barren room followed some storage closets, and then next door was closed. This place seemed more fit for an extended hospital stay than either a home or headquarters.

30 minutes.

Wendy knocked--Irene had retreated somewhere after the “debriefing,” and this was the only remaining potential hideout.

“Come in.”

Wendy tried the door. “It's locked,” she said, stepping back.

The other woman gave a faint “hmm” and opened the door, stanning in the doorway. Her hair was tied back in a professional ponytail, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose.

“Hi,” Wendy ended up saying.

Irene looked, to say the least, unimpressed. She must have been in the middle of working. “Hello. Is there an issue?”

_Right._ “There's three bedrooms,” Wendy said.

“Yes.”

She leaned against the wall. “Do you intend to keep us here during the entire job?”

Irene gave a noncommittal half-shrug and took off her glasses. She folded the circle frames, dropping her arm to her side. “Yes. The more I see you, the more I know you're not off double-crossing us.” She waved her hand. “Not that we don't trust you. I say ‘you’ broadly--the general ‘you’--”

“There's only three rooms,” Wendy repeated, shifting her weight.

Irene opened her mouth to respond, but Joy shouted from across the house. “You two can share one if you're that concerned, Wendy.”

She pressed her lips together. “Thanks for the room, then.”

Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and headed toward the remaining bedroom.

_Time to come up with a speech that will dissuade Seulgi from ever being a part of this._

 

* * *

 

When was the last time she had stood on this doorstep, staring at the worn wooden door, listening to the buzzer alert Seulgi of her arrival?

_Never_ , she remembered. With a glance to her left, she appended that thought. _And definitely not with Irene._  Since Seulgi had lived here, Wendy had been the owner of the duplicate key. She was in and out of this place like a resident. Her chest tightened at the memory. _No more._

A few quiet moments later, Seulgi opened the door and peeked out at the two of them. Her hair fell over a simple black shirt. She made direct eye contact with Wendy, blinked, gave a definitive “Nope!” and shut the door.

Wendy gaped. “Hey!” she shouted, slamming on the door with an open palm. “It's cold out here. Se--Kang Seulgi, let me in!”

Irene stepped forward, tilting her head with something like amusement. “That went well.”

“I don't see you doing much either,” Wendy scoffed, opting to slam on the door again. On the second hit, the door whirled open and Wendy had to stop her hand from hitting her friend-- former friend?--directly in the face. “Ah.”

Seulgi threw an anxious glance to the left, then the right, then at Irene. Waving them in quickly, she spoke in hushed tones. “Wendy?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Listen, I have a lot to expla--”

“I _knew_ it wasn't true!”

Irene turned curious eyes from the precarious light fixture to Wendy, who could only shrug helplessly. “What do you mean?”

“You, you know,” Seulgi said, gesturing vaguely at the small volume of space Wendy occupied. “Dying. I thought I just didn't want to believe it, but deep down…”

Frowning, Wendy was beginning to think all these women were out to poke holes in her professional demeanor. “I thought I did a good job,” she huffed indignantly. “What gave it away?”

The other woman shook her head, putting her hands in the pockets of the apron strewn haphazardly around her neck. “Oh, nothing, I just… I mean, I wasn't invited to the funeral, for one thing. Seemed suspicious.”

Wendy wanted to explain, tell her she couldn't bear to lie to her closest friend, tell her what and why and everything, but Irene chose this moment to begin her spiel.

“Kang Seulgi--may I just call you Seulgi?”

_Why wasn't her introduction this polite for me? And at my own funeral._

Seulgi finally turned her attention to the apparent stranger. “I suppose, but it certainly depends on who you are.”

On cue, Irene pulled that iconic business card from her crisp jacket pocketand the ex-hitman/mercenary reveled in experiencing everything from the sidelines. It was almost hilarious, she reflected, to know the lengths Irene and Joy had gone through to introduce themselves.

 

* * *

 

“Joy won't be coming with us this time,” Irene had explained, sliding into the passenger seat of Wendy’s car as they left the headquarters. Wendy frowned, briefly wondering if she had Joy drop her off at the cemetery hours prior--purely so Irene could make Wendy drive back.

“Okay,” Wendy had replied, not particularly heartbroken by this turn of events. The car door closed with a satisfying slam. “Ready, then?”

Irene furrowed her brow. “Absolutely not. Here's your script.”

Wendy stared at the paper being waved in front of her face, mouth agape, a laugh threatening to escape. “My--”

“Yes, I get it, it's hilarious, yes, we use scripts around here. Are you taking it or not?”

After a moment, she realized the woman was being serious. Wendy snatched the paper, scouring over the lines. She was almost disappointed that any lines labeled “W” actually sounded like something she might say. Before her laid a conversation that already included her trying to dissuade her friend. Was she so predictable?

“My whole purpose in this dialogue is to try to convince her not to come,” Wendy began slowly, questioningly.

“We both get what we want. Is there a particular issue?”

Wendy chewed on her bottom lip, scanning the handwritten lines. How was she supposed to stop Seulgi when that was exactly what was required? Irene must somehow already know Seulgi agrees, no matter what Wendy did. What went on in that mind of hers?

“This sounds familiar. You pull out a business card, throwing it to Seulgi--ah, it's a test. Isn't it?”

Irene gave a faint smile. “Good. I like to gauge reflexes when possible.”

“And then you say, ‘Irene, Private Investigator. I believe I could help you find work, if--’” Wendy paused, leaned back in her seat. “How did you know she was struggling to pay rent?”

A shrug. “Isn't everyone?”

“Then Seul--you've written lines for her, too?”

Another shrug. “She doesn't know that.”

“She says--”

 

* * *

 

“Sounds odd, and I'm listening, but I need Seungwan to tell me something, first.”

Wendy’s mouth opened. She had to admit, Irene seemed pretty good at this. “I can explain,” Wendy was already saying, stepping toward her friend. _The truth_. She blew out a breath. _No big deal_. She could do this. “I'm--I was a… a hired gun,” she tried, forcing herself to not cringe at the words. “Like a mercenary. ‘Gun’ made it sound worse, didn't it.”

Seulgi remained impassive. “Hmm.”

Wendy tried again. “I'm sorry I kept this from you so long, but you get why it can be hard to explain. I'm not...” _a bad person?_ Hesitancy would be the death of her, one day.

Irene glanced at Wendy and back to Seulgi. “Are you aware--”

“Yes, I know what that means. How dumb do you think I am?” Seulgi grumbled. She kicked down the upturned corner of her rug.

There was a silence.

“Oh, come on.”

Wendy thought she might feel some sort of liberation after telling her, but she was only confused at the lack of horror, or fear, or disgust, or any real reaction at all. “You're… not surprised?”

“I knew something was going on behind the curtains,” Seulgi said slowly, “but honestly, I think the truth of the matter hasn't quite set in yet. I'll get back to you on that.”

Wendy looked to Irene for guidance.

“In that case, Seulgi, let me give you another thing to mull over. I'm building a team…” she began, and Wendy nodded appreciatively at the routineness of it.

 

* * *

 

“The scripts are nothing personal, I just prefer we start with these until we know how well we work together,” Irene had explained, slipping a gun into the back of her pants.

Eyebrows raising, Wendy paused in her review of the script. “Expecting trouble?”

She shrugged. “You should know as well as anyone--we always expect trouble.”

“Maybe we are the trouble.”

Irene looked at Wendy fully for the first time since they got in the car. Her dark hair glinted in the light off the snow. “Perhaps we are. I'll read aloud, you drive.” 

And so Wendy drove.

 

* * *

 

“Driving,” Seulgi considered, rubbing her chin. “What sort of driving?”

Irene put her hands on her hips in silent victory. “The fast kind.”

Wendy grimaced. “This is when you say, ‘No, this sounds like a terrible idea, I'm reporting you all to the police.’”

The corners of Seulgi’s lips pulled down. “No, it sounds… interesting. And you're clearly on board. If it's for a good cause…”

“Seulgi,” Wendy warned.

“I'm in.”

Wendy wished she could have said she was surprised. As the two shook hands and Irene gave her more details, Wendy stared at the worn, lumpy sofa that hadn't been replaced for years. She felt like she hadn't truly given her all in trying to sway the conversation despite taking it away from the script and using her best look of innocence. She realized, selfishly, that at least it meant having a friend back. She was scarce on those to begin with.

Seulgi nodded, eyes wide at something Irene said.

Control was a rug pulled out from under her feet, but at least Wendy still had the luxury of being disappointed. She thought back to the unfamiliar dining table and the cups of tea and Joy and Irene’s prying eyes.

"Wait." She had grabbed Irene's shoulder as she turned to leave. "So what role do you play in all of this?"

"If you learn to trust me," she said, eyes and voice very level, "I will be the reason you survive this job."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone asks, yeah, this is 100% inspired by the show Leverage, plus a bit of Six of Crows. As usual, let me know your thoughts (and sorry as usual for the slowness).


	4. Girls' Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy closed her eyes as the women in the car made conversation--from amplitude modulated radio signals to the latest flick. If she thought hard enough, she could almost pretend nothing was out of the ordinary--as if her fake death had never been thwarted by the woman in the passenger seat, her friendship with Seulgi intact, her evenings accompanied by light hearted conversation.
> 
> Wendy opened her eyes, watching the trees whiz by. There was no time for thoughts of what could have been.

“You seem to be taking this all quite well,” Irene began under her breath, one hand tapping away at the windowsill as if it were a piano. Her gaze was fixed out the window; Wendy faced the hallway. Irene had left quite a few feet of tangible space between them.

Wendy turned her head to look at the woman. She expected Irene to continue; when she didn't, Wendy turned her body towards her, took a step or two closer. Irene was not looking at her. “It’s just another job,” she murmured.

Irene’s dark eyes flicked behind her to the hall where Seulgi had disappeared. “I know you two were close.”

She hummed. Folded her arms. What were they, friends? She didn't know why Irene would feign concern. “We were.”

Irene’s hand briefly reached toward Wendy before it was pulled back--whatever Irene had on her mind, apparently she was not in the mood for sharing. Not as if this were anything new.

“Right on time,” she said instead, turning away from both Wendy and the window. Louder, she added, “Our ride is here,” and saw herself out the front door. A circle of condensation remained on the glass from Irene’s breath.

_Ride?_

Wendy peered through the curtains, eyebrows raising at the sleek black vehicle in the middle of the street. Tinted windows against the snow-coated street--the car looked like a rich man’s poor attempt at blending in with the masses.

Seulgi was by her side in a fraction of a second, hands pressed against the glass. “Wow,” she breathed, and Wendy laughed.

Seulgi’s breathing stilled for a moment. “I think I'm upset with you,” Seulgi said to her, eyes glued to the car, “but we will talk about this later.”

Wendy nodded, stomach twisting in guilt. “That seems fair,” she offered, not sure how to approach reconciling with Seulgi. For the record, she wasn't even entirely sure Seulgi had the capacity to _be_ angry with her--not that Wendy wanted to test her theory, at any rate. There was one person in this room that was distinctly in the wrong, and it wasn’t Seulgi.

“Who's driving that beast of a vehicle?” Seulgi asked, squinting.

Despite the heavily tinted windows, a hint of red shone from the driver’s seat.

"Joy," she said, almost laughing again. "Come on."

  
  
Either Irene's neutral expression made her look unimpressed, or she was genuinely very unamused. “I thought I said to choose something subtle."

Joy got out of the car, waving Seulgi closer. “You didn't say to make it boring, though."

Irene tossed her hands in the air but slid into the passenger seat anyway. She got the impression that very few people were allowed to disregard Irene’s commands to the extent Joy did, and for some reason, Wendy enjoyed this fact.

"I was under the impression we would be working as a team of five," Wendy pointed out as she got in the back. The black leather was soft and cool beneath her hands. It was no ‘53 Chrysler, but Wendy wasn’t complaining.

“We are,” Irene stated. She looked extraordinarily elegant against the seat, and Wendy briefly thought she belonged on a fashion magazine spread far more than the dark underbelly of corrupt politics. "It's exam season for students," Irene added, and left it at that.

Wendy frowned. "It's like we're going to be babysitting! We can't afford to waste our time--"

"And which one of you is the baby?"

Wendy clamped her mouth shut. She seemed to be doing that a lot as of late.

Seulgi had hesitantly gotten in, running her hands over the wheel. "Wow," she said again, and looked over. "Is this yours?"

Joy slid in next to Wendy, pleased with her own work. "It’s yours now. Take us for a spin, Seulgi."

"No need to tell me twice," Seulgi noted, shifting the car to reverse. Wendy didn’t have to look to know there was a childish delight spanning her smile, despite the tumult of the past hour. Perhaps she should take a leaf from Seulgi’s book on life.

“Not without some tunes,” Joy added, leaning across the console to fiddle with the radio. “FM,” she added with some amount of pride. “It’s going to be the new big thing. AM radio is on its way out.”

Wendy closed her eyes as the women in the car made conversation--from amplitude modulated radio signals to the latest flick. If she thought hard enough, she could almost pretend nothing was out of the ordinary--as if her fake death had never been thwarted by the woman in the passenger seat, her friendship with Seulgi intact, her evenings accompanied by light hearted conversation.

Wendy opened her eyes, watching the trees whiz by. There was no point to thoughts of what could have been.

 

* * *

 

“Okay,” Irene said, fifteen minutes into the drive.

Wendy peeled her eyes from the window. The fields were flashing in and out of sight as more houses and buildings took their place--time between bumps in the road increased, wheels giving a smooth _whirr_ against asphalt instead of crunching along gravel paths. They were headed toward the city, and Wendy had been dying to ask why.

Even the radio seemed to become subdued when she spoke.

“Okay,” Wendy echoed after a beat, to humor the other woman.

“Here’s the plan.” Irene locked eyes with Wendy through the rear-view mirror.

Wendy looked away.

Seulgi reached over to the volume dial, spinning it towards her. The car became silent but for the engine shooting them down the road at fifty miles per hour. “Wait—plan?”

Irene opened the glovebox, pulling out a series of roadmaps. “We need to start preparations now.” She unfolded the top one, smoothing it out against the dashboard and pulled a pen out from behind her ear. Wendy leaned forward in her seat to get a better view, feeling the seat shift beside her as Joy did the same.

Three buildings were circled in blue ink. Irene tapped the leftmost one with the tip of the cap. “We start here.”

Seulgi pushed the clutch, downshifting. The car slowed slightly. “Should I--”

“Keep driving,” Irene said. “Your role is to be on hand for a quick getaway at any moment. Don’t get out of the car. You won’t need to.”

“At all? Okay. Roger that,” Seulgi said with a shrug, accelerating again.

Silently, Wendy marveled at how calmly Seulgi accepted the instruction--as if this were just any casual drive around town. As if Seulgi had done this before.

She hadn’t, though.

_Right?_

“Wendy,” Irene was saying, which snapped her attention back to the crisp road map. “Joy will go in first and get you into this building from a balcony on the second floor, east side.” Another paper was pulled out from under the stack. Neat, perfect lines of graphite covered the page. Blueprints. Hand-made.

The older woman pointed to a small square near the top of the page. “Secure the perimeter of the fourth floor. Security won’t be terribly tight, but be on your guard. There’s a briefcase in this office on the north side of the building. At ten-thirty, I am going to walk out of these doors--” she pointed at a set of lines on the bottom edge of the page--”with that case in hand. Seulgi, be ready.”

 

* * *

 

At exactly 10:20, a light flashed twice from a second-floor window. _I see you, Joy._ Wendy left the safety of the shadows and tried the door to the balcony. The door swung towards her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Joy was nowhere to be seen, but she supposed that meant all was well. No news was good news in this business.

A small brass object glinted in the light--on closer inspection, she found a key lodged in the dirt of the indoor plants framing the door. _A gift from Sooyoung herself?_ Wendy pocketed it.

She needed to make her way up two more levels without causing a scene. Wendy crept around the dark corners of the building, avoiding the patrolling security guards with ease. She had to knock out a guard that nearly gave her the jump on the third floor, but by the time she reached the fourth, Seungwan was almost enjoying herself.

_Secure the perimeter._ A vague instruction. A swift blow to the temple sent the guard near the window to the ground. Wendy stepped over him gingerly. She methodically cleared the area of guards, pulling a few to darker corners. _Out of sight, out of mind._

Wendy lingered in a hallway near the office at hand, staring blankly at a rotating gate. The gate hadn’t been on the blueprints, and Irene had said nothing about a direct barrier to the room. A dense chain kept the gate from turning—a hefty lock kept the chain from falling to the ground.

_10:27._

“What are you waiting for?” came Irene’s voice from behind her shoulder. Right on cue.

Wendy pulled the key from her pocket, saying a brief prayer before sliding it in.

The latch clicked open and Wendy caught the chains before they clattered to the floor. _Thank you, Park Sooyoung_. She pushed the grates forward.

An alarm bell began to shriek.

“ _Shit.”_ She shoved Irene through the gate, waving her off with haste. “Get the case, I’ll buy some time.”

A momentary glance and a nod, and the woman was off.

Wendy sighed, turning to face the gathering set of guns pointed in her direction. Only three men--inconvenient, but nothing she couldn't handle. “Hmm.”

“Hands in the air,” commanded the one to her right. Tall. Exuding confidence.

She eyeballed the heavy chain on the floor, painfully slowly raising her arms.

“Hurry it up, doll. I haven’t got all night.”

_Time to ruin this asshole’s evening. “_ Sorry, it’s just—“ Wendy made a show of bending over, rubbing her lower back. “My back is so…”

“Stand _up_ ,” the guard scowled, shoving the barrel of his rifle under Wendy’s chin.

The shorter guard to the left took a step forward. “Isn’t that too much? She’s…”

“Hey,” the tall one hissed, sparing the shorter one half a glare. “Don’t—“

That moment was all Wendy needed. She reached for the chain, shoving the barrel of the gun to the side with her head in the same fluid motion. In the time it took for the remaining guard to look alarmed, Wendy grunted and tugged on the chain, sending the end of it whipping around the ankles of all three men. She pulled, hard, hearing a few bullets miss their mark as the men crashed into each other on their way to the floor.

One—the leftmost one—was the first to try to stagger back onto his feet. _Not fast enough._ Wendy shifted her weight, leaning just enough to drive her elbow under the guard’s chin. He staggered backwards, beginning to shout before Wendy tore the rifle from his hands, shoving the butt of it into his face. He crumpled. _That one is going to leave a mark._

Holding the barrel of the gun as if it were a baseball bat, she swung it into the stomach of the short one, watching him double over as she felt herself get grabbed from behind. 

With a deep exhale, she slammed her head back, feeling hard impact with the guard’s nose. Before the short one had recovered from the prior blow, Wendy shoved her feet into his chest, sending him into a pillar and the tall one staggering backwards. She swung her heel into the man’s shin and threw her head back. It was enough of an impact to the man’s face for him to loosen his grip—and enough for Wendy to rip free of his grasp. She threw a few punches to his gut for good measure, and grabbed the man in a tight headlock before he could call for backup.

_Irene,_ Wendy thought, tightening her grip while he tried to throw her off. _This case had better be worth it._ When the man’s struggling stilled, she dropped the man. He collapsed unceremoniously, becoming another tripping hazard in the darkness of the fourth floor. 

She almost moved to leave, but turned back to check the guard for anything of use. It had been a while since she didn’t have access to her own tools, but she could make do.

_Flashlight, baton, gun._ The corner of her mouth pulled down. Was Irene certain this place had what they needed? Wendy was overwhelmingly underwhelmed by the supposed top-notch guard’s standard gear.

“Sorry,” she whispered, taking the pistol from its holster anyway. She patted the man’s head. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

No time to waste. She jumped the railing of the stairwell, skipping steps on her way down. She darted around a few corners, coming to a screeching halt at an intersection on the second floor. Someone else’s footsteps rang out in front of her, accompanying the rapidly approaching set of boots just behind her. Wendy clicked off the safety on her newly acquired gun, taking a breath. She whipped around the corner, crouched, gun aimed at the assailant’s head--only to find the barrel of another gun pointed directly back at her.

“ _Seungwan,”_ Irene breathed, lowering her weapon.

“Almost gave me a heart attack,” Wendy hissed, standing up. “What are you doing?”

She rested her hand over Wendy’s gun arm, pushing down. “Don’t ever point a gun at me again. I took the west stairs, and—just get to the car!”

Wendy took off running again, Irene hot on her heels. A few gunshots rang out behind them as they turned a corner. “The balcony!” Irene shouted, and Wendy took a sharp right turn. She threw open the door she had come through, vaulting over the railing and bracing for the impact of the jump. She hit the ground running, hearing a _thud_ behind her after a few seconds. For her own sake, she hoped it was Irene, but didn’t take the time to glance back.

“Seulgi!” Wendy yelled, ducking when a bullet shattered a window behind her. The engine revved in response.

Joy threw the door open, pulling Wendy into the car as Irene flung herself into the passenger seat, with the case— _thank god, she got the case—_ in hand. “What the _hell_ happened in there?”

Wendy shook her head, breathing hard. “Later! Floor it!”

Before the doors had even closed, the car was speeding off—directly into oncoming police lights.

“Seulgi!” Joy yelled, bracing herself against the seat. “Ahead—“

“I see them! Hang on!” was all Seulgi offered before throwing the car into a screeching drift of a U-turn. The engine made a noise of complaint as it accelerated, speedometer shooting to the right. The world spun for a moment as the smell of burning rubber filled her senses.

Slightly breathless from the drifting, Irene murmured, “Lose them and take us home, Seulgi.”

_This_ , Wendy thought, catching her breath, _is not how normal people drive._

 

* * *

 

The ride back to the house was a quiet one. Irene made no motion to open the case, and no one asked her to. Wendy was beginning to learn how useless it was to ask questions, anyway. Irene would speak when she wanted, and it seemed like all she wanted to say were directions to get back. Even Seulgi kept mum for most of the trip.

They filed into the house, Wendy with the recently lifted guns in hand--Irene with the case. Joy led the way, saying a “I deserve an explanation for that ordeal!” with a vague wave. She tilted her head at Seulgi. “Come on. I’ll fill you in on how we work around here.”

Seulgi threw a glance back at Wendy, for once, unreadable, before disappearing into the house with Sooyoung.

“Hey, good work today.”

Wendy looked up, a second too late—Joohyun hadn’t stopped to talk. It wasn’t until the door to Joohyun’s room had closed that Wendy found her voice.

“Thanks,” she whispered to the empty hallway. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the wall. _What have I gotten myself into this time?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s historical accuracy, anyway? Sorry about the wild ride--the “1950s” scene is really more of a vibe than a strict rule.  
> I also have no idea how to drive stick.  
> I’m still here, but barely hanging on. Thank god it’s finally break. What are your thoughts on this chapter? Comments are always appreciated!


	5. Five's Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seulgi let out a laugh, sniffling slightly. “Sounds like we went through a rough breakup.”  
> “If breakups involved guns and getaway vehicles and two other women,” Wendy laughed, wiping under her eyes quickly. “Speaking of which… Your driving,” Wendy stated, question dangling in the air. “You’ve done this before.  
> Seulgi scrunched her face a little, suddenly becoming a small child being reprimanded for stealing cookies after dark.

Seulgi lingered in the doorway to the room that was too sparse to be Wendy’s, but there she sat nonetheless. Her deep brown eyes scanned the bare walls, the lone bag of belongings looking pitiful in the otherwise empty space.

Wendy waited for Seulgi to speak first, not knowing what her friend wanted to hear, not knowing whether to start an argument or an apology. Where would she begin, anyway?

After the high energy chase of yesterday, the girls had retreated to separate quarters without a word—Wendy had assumed Seulgi had gone to her own home after meeting with Joy, but from the slightly disheveled look of her hair and creases on her shirt, perhaps Wendy was wrong.

“Hey,” the woman eventually said.

Wendy let out a puff of air, corner of her mouth pulling up. “Hey.”

Seulgi clasped, then unclasped her hands. Opened her mouth, closed it. She looked at the ceiling and shook her head--and Wendy deeply wished she’d known what Seulgi was struggling to say. “Can I come in?” Seulgi asked instead, using her shoulder to push herself off the side jamb.

Wendy nodded mutely, offering her the desk chair.

“So,” Seulgi said.

Wendy nodded, but Seulgi did not continue. “So.” A few more moments passed in tense silence.

“This is painful,” Seulgi sighed. The chair squeaked gently under her weight. “This isn’t us.”

Now there was a truth. “How are you?” Wendy asked, in lieu of a reply.

Seulgi shrugged. “Confused. A bit excited. I don’t know. This is a lot.”

She nodded, forming her sentences slowly and carefully. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t know these women, Seulgi. I don’t know if they’re trustworthy.”

Her friend furrowed her brow, looking too young and kind-hearted to be where she was, doing what she was doing. “I think they are.”

“Seulgi…”

“I just have a good feeling about this,” she insisted. “I slept on the couch last night. Here. In this house.”

Wendy’s brows raised. “Why?”

Seulgi shrugged, running her fingers around the grooved design of the armrest. “I think I can trust them, that’s all.”

_Can I still trust you?_ It went unspoken, a mere echo of Wendy’s insecurities, but it hurt as much as if Seulgi had spoken the words.

“I think you’re just more jaded now,” Seulgi continued, slowly. “You have the mind of a mercenary, but I know you. You have the heart of a hero. The years haven’t changed you that much, Seungwan.”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy whispered, throat constricting. “Seulgi, I’m sorry that—“

Seulgi shook her head. “Don’t. It’s okay.”

“No, listen, I’m sorry. I thought it would protect you if you didn’t know. I didn’t want you to get involved. I didn’t want you to…” Wendy breathed deeply. “Change. I didn’t want _us_ to change.”

Seulgi offered a small smile, punching Wendy gently. “But here I am.”

“Here you are,” Wendy echoed, voice weaker than she would’ve liked to admit.

Seulgi looked at the ceiling, inhaling deeply before saying, “Really—I really, really believed for a moment that you were gone. It wasn’t fair.”

“I’m here,” Wendy said, wishing she weren’t so eternally grateful to have her closest friend back in her life. She was being selfish, and she knew it. “and if you’re in, I guess I’m not leaving.”

Seulgi let out a laugh, sniffling slightly. “Sounds like we went through a rough breakup.”

“If breakups involved guns and getaway vehicles and two other women,” Wendy laughed, doing a quick wipe under her eyes. “Speaking of which… Your driving,” Wendy stated, question dangling in the air. “You’ve done this before.”

Seulgi scrunched her face a little, suddenly becoming a small child being reprimanded for stealing cookies after dark. ”Ah… Street racing,” she explained, equal parts confession and apology. “It was an easy way to get a lot of money.”

“Street racing,” Wendy echoed, a pure deadpan. “Did I hear you correctly?”

Her friend scratched her cheek, pulling her feet under her. “It was an accident! I was just walking home from work a few months ago, but took a detour because of the construction on main street, right, and ran into a bunch of guys…” Seulgi trailed off for a moment. “I knew one of them, he lives in my apartment complex, and so I asked him what was going on.”

Wendy paused. “That’s not… the end of the story, is it? There’s a difference between stumbling into a underground ring and becoming its reigning champion.”

Seulgi laughed at that, rubbing the back of her neck. “That… well, some… some absolute _germ_ said I was too pretty to be walking alone at night, and… I didn’t want them to think that was fine to say to a girl, and I don’t much like the guy that lives near me anyway...” she trailed off.

Wendy stared, waiting for a punchline.

“Well,” Seulgi went on, “so I said ‘I’m doing fine on my own, thank you very much,’ and they said something like ‘Prove it,’ and…” She shrugged. “So I got in one of the cars and won, I guess. And then I kept coming back.”

Wendy blinked, eyes watering from staring too long. “You’re joking. You are pulling my leg right now. There is no way.”

Seulgi shrugged, sheepish. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“You’re serious! You really--accidentally--got into illegal street racing because some guy bugged you. You couldn’t have told him to buzz off, like a normal girl?” Wendy kicked the armrest of the desk chair, causing Seulgi to spin towards her.

“I didn’t know! I didn’t even know it was illegal until about a month ago,” she cried, slapping away Wendy’s foot. “I just know they gave me a lot of money for it, and I guess I was pretty good. It got the boys off my back, anyway.”

Wendy smiled weakly, trying a joke. “You didn't know it was _illegal?_  I mean, sure, I’d be humiliated too, getting beat by a rookie like you.”

Seulgi rolled her eyes, her smile betraying her. “Well, it got me here, anyway. That’s the story, you’re all caught up on the life of Kang Seulgi.” She finally met Wendy’s eyes. “So what about you?”

And for once, without restraint, Wendy pushed back the curtain of her life, telling Seulgi about the jobs she’d done for years, the people she had met, and her final decision to quit. Nothing was held back--not even the first botched job (not her fault) or the time she nearly got caught by local authorities (also not her fault). She stuttered her way through explaining meeting Bae Joohyun again after all these years--her confusion, her hesitation. The only thing she refrained from mentioning were her thoughts on Joohyun herself.

To her credit, Seulgi was the perfect audience, gasping and laughing in all the right places. In some sort of twisted way, Wendy recounting her double life was the closest to feeling “like old times” as she had ever felt. It was nice.

But, Wendy thought, she would sooner be caught dead than thanking Irene for reuniting the two of them.

 

* * *

 

Later, when Bae Joohyun asked Wendy to follow her, she expected one of the other women to eventually join them. By the time she slid into her car and Irene closed the door on the other side, a knot began twisting in her stomach--from what, she wasn’t sure.

“Where did you say we were headed?”

Irene didn’t even spare a glance at her, which was somewhere between offensive and completely expected. “I didn’t, I suppose.”

Her knuckles turned white, seams of the leather steering wheel leaving shallow imprints on her fingers. She risked a glance at the woman. The car engine roared to life. “Why don’t you ever just answer my questions?”

There was silence, for a moment, and while Wendy was far from dropping the matter, she had already acknowledged she wasn’t going to win this time. Perhaps she wasn’t bound to understand Irene, and—really, what did it matter? One last job. Local mastermind Bae Joohyun could brood or plot all she wanted after Wendy was long gone, paycheck in hand.

“I wouldn’t want to say the wrong thing,” came the quiet, nearly imagined reply.

“That sounds like a regret, not a reason.”

Irene’s eyes held fast to the road ahead, impassive. Her voice became thin, a house of cards balanced precariously on a crooked foundation. “Those can be the same thing.”

They both knew that wasn’t an answer at all. _A single puff of air could bring the whole house down,_ she thought. What was to be learned from knocking down the structure? Wendy had a sneaking suspicion that the card back would be printed on both sides, and she would still walk away with nothing new gained.

“We’re picking up Yerim,” Irene added in the silence—as close to a surrender as Wendy figured she would ever get. “Just us.”

It didn’t matter to Wendy what thoughts went through Irene’s mind, or what regrets ran so deep through her core. It shouldn’t have, anyway.

 

When Wendy found herself pulling into a quaint diner on the side of the highway, she gave Irene a questioning glance.

“I told her to meet us here after class. She’s already inside, I imagine.”

The snow crunched under her boots as Wendy got out of her car, beginning to dust a fine layer over her windshield. She moved to grab the front door of the diner, stopped by Irene’s hand on her arm.

“And Seungwan, don’t scare her off, please,” Irene added, and was she--amused?

Wendy looked down at the point of contact, stopping all of her movements. “Did I look like I was going to?”

Irene dropped her hand to her side, actually letting out a puff of air through her nose. Wendy was startled--Irene was _laughing_. “Yes, actually. Your neutral expression is far more friendly than this. Relax, Seungwan. Kim Yerim prefers to work in a more laid-back environment.”

“I can be laid-back,” Wendy argued quietly as the bell above them rung, announcing their entrance. Coffee and butter attacked her senses in the most pleasant and familiar way possible, feeling nostalgic and homey all at once. Perhaps Wendy could come back here, after all this.

“And I’m positive you do that excellently in other circles of your life,” Irene murmured. Her eyes scanned the room before she looped her arm through Wendy’s and pulled her to a small booth near the windows, leaving Wendy wondering at what point they were on arm-linking terms.

“Bae Joohyun,” she was saying, offering her right hand to a young girl sipping away at a milkshake with her shirt tucked into a high-waisted poodle skirt. She was the picture of teenage culture, and Wendy was wary of it all.

Irene slid into the booth, letting go of Wendy. “Thanks for coming out here to meet us.”

Suddenly, Wendy realized Irene hadn’t given her a script—she hadn’t even received instructions. She was simply an accessory Irene had worn along, and she suddenly felt self-conscious of herself. Why would Irene bring her and not the rest of the group?

“And this is Wendy,” Irene was saying. At the acknowledgement, Wendy gave a two-fingered salute as she slid in next to Irene. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

The girl picked the red-and-white striped straw out of her disposable cup, pointing the end at the ceiling. “Yeri,” the girl offered, saluting Wendy back with her empty hand, “and I’m only here because you—“ she pointed her straw at Irene, leaving drips on the table—“said this was gonna be fun.”

_Fun?_ That was not the first word that came to Wendy’s mind. Irene had thrown words like _morals_ and _integrity_ at her when they had met.

“I think you’ll have few regrets about joining us,” Irene said, smiling more sincerely than Wendy had seen. It was easier to ignore that when she kept her eyes across the table instead of next to her.

“Velvet Agencies _._ I haven’t heard of you guys before. You guys don’t look like crooks.” Yeri paused for beat, considering. She pointed her straw back at Irene. “Actually, well, you kind of do. Am I getting kidnapped right now?”

This girl was certainly a character. “By all means, don’t hold back. Tell us what you really mean, Yeri,” Wendy said, bemused.

“Plus, is it just you two?” Yeri asked, scrunching her nose. “No offense meant, but you both seem pretty boring.”

Irene gave Wendy a sidelong glance, saying either ‘ _what do we do with her?’_ or _‘see why I chose her?’_ and Wendy had no idea which she meant.

“I think you’ll get along with our friend Sooyoung just perfectly, actually,” Irene replied. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement. The use of the word _our_ before _friend_ seemed rather generous to Wendy, but she kept mum.

Then Irene snapped her fingers, putting a frown on her lips. “Ah, see, but she’s back at the house. If you’d like to learn more, we have to go somewhere... else.” Irene glanced behind her, eyeing the decrepit old man sitting alone three tables over. She scooted to Wendy’s end of the seat--and Wendy quickly scrambled off the bench before Irene came too close and let her stand.

The man in question had not so much as been a blip on her radar--Wendy hadn’t been remotely concerned about him. He must have been near eighty years old, skin and tweed jacket sagging equally. The food fell off his fork before it reached his mouth, landing squarely in his lap. The man didn’t seem to notice.

Yeri also stared at the man, narrowing her eyes. “Fine. I’ll come with, hear you guys out. That’s not an agreement yet, by the way, so don’t quote me on that. Just don’t sell me to the cops. Or a creep. But mostly the cops.”

Irene nodded, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Excellent. With that, I have to make a call. Seungwan, take her to the car in a few minutes. Grab a bite to eat, if you want. I’ll meet you two out there.” And like that, she was gone, heading to the phone booth off the side of the parking lot. Wendy watched her enter the booth, turning herself to face away from the diner.

“So,” Yeri drawled, sticking the straw back into her cup. “How long’s she gonna be?”

Wendy shrugged, dragging her eyes back to the girl. “As long as she wants.” Frowning, she rapped her fingers against the glass top of the table. She thought her memory would jog at the sight of the girl, but she was still pulling a blank on why Kim Yerim was familiar to her. “Do I know you?” Wendy asked.

Yeri chewed on her bottom lip, eyes searching the ceiling. “I don’t think I’d know someone like you. Why?”

An unnecessary jab, but Wendy ignored it. There was no way she would have been tasked with or by this girl on the job, but--"Oh, Kim Yerim! I remember now.” She felt a rush of victory despite the irrelevance of the epiphany. "You were at the top of your class last year, weren't you?"

Yeri gave a bark of laughter, spinning her now-empty cup between her hands. " _That's_ what you know me for? I never even went to class."

"It was on the radio a few months ago," she added, trailing off. Folding her arms, she had to give Irene more credit. The woman knew how do to her research. “Still, you’re an odd choice. Why would she pick you?”

Yeri squinted, looking more her age than ever. “Why would she pick _you_? She’s clearly the brains and the beauty, so you must be the brawn. And you don’t look all that impressive.”

If she weren’t so busy fighting down irritation, she might have been fighting down a smile. If Yeri’s hands were as quick as her wit, perhaps Irene had picked well. “You are treading on some thin ice, kiddo,” Wendy warned, threat entirely empty.

The girl laughed. “You’re one to talk.” Wendy’s eyes followed the point of Yeri’s straw, looking once again at the phone booth. “Did you shove the pole up her ass, or is she just like that?”

Wendy actually snorted at that one. “Your guess is as good as mine. She’s probably waiting for us, anyway. Let’s go.”

Yeri gave a long _ah,_ dragging the vowel for longer than strictly necessary. She made no effort to move. “I get it.”

Wendy pursed her lips. A second passed, and Wendy’s wristwatch ticked loudly. She shifted her weight. “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

“You are absolutely whipped for her.”

She was thankful she wasn’t drinking anything, because she would have spit it out. She still coughed, which certainly wasn’t helping her case. The professional side of her was bewildered at her own actions. “Excuse me?”

Yeri smirked, honest-to-god _smirked_ with all the confidence in the world. “Right? Am I right? I’m so right.”

“That is _not_ how this operation works, Kim Yerim.” Flabbergasted was a weak word for how she felt at the moment.

“Oh, oh, it’s one of those _strictly professional_ kinds of things, huh? That’s a shame.” Yeri finally slid out of her seat, tossing her cup in the trash. “For you, anyway.” And with that, she stalked off to the phone booth, throwing her hand up in a peace sign as she went through the diner’s front door.

One of these days, Wendy dreamed of catching a break. Lord knows she hadn’t gotten one since the moment her empty coffin settled in the ground, when Joohyun waltzed back into her life.

 

* * *

 

Seulgi, to say the least, was surprised when Yeri walked in the door behind Irene. She closed the file in her hands, tilting her head. “Who’s this?” she wondered, no malice in her voice.

Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but Yeri beat her to it. “Yeri. What do you do around here?”

Surprised, Seulgi glanced at Wendy, then Joy. “I--um--”

“She drives,” Irene supplemented, somehow encouragingly. “Fast.”

For what it was worth, Yeri gave Seulgi another once-over, wrinkles in her brow smoothing. She clapped her hand on Irene's shoulder. “That’s the most exciting thing you’ve said all day. If I agree to help, would I get to try driving?”

“No,” Wendy said, as Irene said, “Absolutely not.”

“Lame.” Without prompting, the girl wandered the house, flipping through various stacks of paper shamelessly. The other women looked around at each other silently, not entirely sure how to approach the girl.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll help you guys.”

Wendy blinked. “What? Why? We haven’t even told you anything yet. You have no idea what we want. You don’t even know who we are.”

Yeri picked up the file with her own photo taped to the front, running her thumb under the flap of the folder. She stepped around the small dining table, fascinated. “Yeah, well.” There was a noncommittal shrug as she flipped it open. Her eyes scanned the page. “You seem to know plenty about me, so let’s start evening that out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A low-adrenaline update after last chapter. A little bit of salvaging a friendship, a little bit of friendly banter, a lot of our savage maknae. Let me know what you think!


	6. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a sigh, Irene then continued, spreading the pages across the table. “Right. So, admittedly, it’s not that simple. The security of this building is the top-of-the-top, and the stakes if we get caught--well, they’re higher than I’d like to have to mention.”
> 
> “And you want to go nonlethal,” Wendy added.
> 
> “And you don’t want to leave a single trace,” Yeri pitched in.
> 
> “And you don’t know if this information is up-to-date,” Joy said.
> 
> “And you seem to think we’re capable of actually working together without a hitch,” Seulgi threw in, brow raised. 
> 
> Irene’s lips quirked up in a small smile.

“Let me get this straight,” Yeri said, having settled very comfortably on the small couch in the living room. Draping her arms over the couch, she leveled her gaze at each of the women seated at the small table in the adjacent kitchen. “You’re saying there’s some corrupt… _issue_ happening with some company or government branch or politician or whatever, and you want to fix it. And you think five random girls out here in Nowheresville can do that? This is the whole team? Some crazy D-list actress no one’s heard of, the tiny mercenary goof, a clueless driver with probably something stupid like a heart of gold, and a pretty girl with the jets running the show? This is what we’re working with?”

 _Well, when you put it like that…_ Wendy grimaced. No, joining this team was definitively not one the brightest decisions she’d made in her life. She looked at each of the women as Yeri addressed them, and inhaled deeply. _I’m going to get myself killed for real on this job. She’s right. Who do these women think they are?_

“Well, ain’t that a bite,” Joy muttered, rolling her eyes. “You scared? I told you, Joohyun, she’s just a kid--" If Wendy hadn’t been looking for it, she might have missed the conspiratory smile Joy threw at Irene. She wasn’t sure what these women knew how to do, but they understood how to play people, at least. And Joy--with seemingly all the self-confidence in the world--put her faith in the ever-stoic Irene. _Why?_

“Hey, cool it, lady. I was just asking,” Yeri interrupted, predictably, with a scowl. “I’m up for a challenge, I’m just not looking for a suicide mission, alright? I just don’t see how we’d stand a chance against literally _any_ organization with any structure or self respect at all, much less the ‘Big Bad’ type.”

She couldn’t help but find it entertaining to watch Irene and Joy play the rest of them like fools. Entertaining--and deeply unsettling, because they seemed to know how she ticked better than she knew herself. Two seats to her left, Seulgi was nodding along, maybe despite herself. On her right, Irene stayed silent, face expressing that she was listening, but voice offering nothing in return.

“Well, let’s see--now’s as good a time as any. I’m sure we’re all dying to know,” Joy said, directing her attention to Irene. “What was in the damn case you two almost got shot over?”

Starting with a nod, Irene straightened in her seat. “Before any of you say anything, _yes_ , most of it is just paper. I assure you, it was worth the risk.” With a slight shake of the table, the case was pulled into the center of them. She flipped open the latches on the case, tossing the lid open. The top manila folder was unmarked from the outside, but Irene picked it up and said, “Information. This has the blueprints for all of the key governmental buildings in the city, including a slightly out-of-date sketch of their respective security systems and patrol routes.” She set it aside, and began picking up the subsequent files inside. “This contains the past, current, and predicted successive keys to access the computational machines the agency is using to try to crack ciphers, intercept communications, and calculate trajectory for their attacks.”

“The machines,” Wendy breathed, incredulous. “You have access to the computers? The ones people can get are near-useless. I heard the ones on the market are barely more than giant chunks of metal and plastic.”

“The ones on the _market_ are, Seungwan. They’ve been commercially available for a few years, but you have to expect the ones used by the intelligence agencies to be far ahead of the game. They’re infinitely more reliable and efficient than human calculation. They can process and store data faster than we can comprehend. And if they’re using it do find target angles for missile launches... ”

She didn’t know what else to say to that--she’d seen the clunky electronic beasts in storefronts and in the paper, but hadn’t put much thought into them. People were beginning to develop a fear of the thing that could put them out of jobs, but no one really knew what they were capable of.

Irene was continuing, as if no one had interrupted her. “We also have names of people we can trust for help, and names of people suspected of being against our cause. One of these lists is much longer than the other.”

Seulgi looked at Wendy, and then to Irene. “What--sorry, but what exactly _is_ our cause? You’ve all been very vague about this whole thing.”

Irene nodded, collecting the folders in her hands. She tapped the stack against the table, aligning the corners, and spoke in the same, quiet voice she had been using. “Weaponry is being developed that could easily destroy the lives of hundreds of thousands in an instant. This could be the most massive genocide in history as we know it--and, from the moment between launch and landing, there’s not nearly enough time to evacuate even a quarter of this country. We would have nowhere to go. It would be absolutely historical on the most horrifying scale possible. Not only would the victors write history and have this massive destruction be their leverage to power, but there would be no defeated party to speak of. Personally, I would rather not have the general populous find out about something like this--or for any country to be its first target. Hopefully you all feel the same way.”

Yeri piped up, hesitant. “Aren’t there already things like that? Even just a few years ago, in Japan--”

“There’s _nothing_ like this,” Irene replied. “The armistice was only signed months ago. The nations are far from at peace. There are already hands on the figurative launch button--and too many men that are too willing to be the first to press down. There are more world leaders involved in this than we know.”

“But you know, don’t you?” Wendy murmured, heart sinking at the implications. This was far bigger than she had hoped it would be.

“We can’t stop the development,” Irene replied, tone still surprisingly light, “but there are people out there who want this war to escalate--for these men behind their desks to prove there’s substance behind their words, to simply give the word and wipe out the lives of entire nations. One very specific piece of intel is threatening to come by the desk of some very top officials this week, and it’s going to look legitimate enough to start a bloodbath.” She took a breath, putting down all the papers and clasping her hands on top of the stack. “That’s where we come in.”

“I thought this was going to be a quick and easy heist,” Wendy joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Like a Klimt painting, or that Hope Diamond circulating the States again. Something normal like that.”

Yeri twisted her ponytail in her hand, biting her lip. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Not to be dramatic, but you’re saying we’re trying to save the world?”

Irene pursed her lips, considering for a second. The fact that she had to think about the question at all had Wendy a little nervous.  “No, not really. We’re trying to keep things from getting any worse. We’re…” she paused, finding the right words. “We’re just seeking out the truth.”

“I don’t know how you manage to make it sound so boring,” Yeri drawled. She shook her head, impatient. “Hey--but don’t let me stop you. What else have you got in there?”

Wendy figured she could reconcile all of the information in her head later, when she had time to think everything through. This was _huge_. Why did Irene pick the team she had for such a supposedly grand-scale mission?

Beneath all the papers laid a second case--this one smaller, and plastic. From the black foam, Irene pulled out a small piece of plastic, a coil of wire from it leading down to a black box the just larger than her hand. “Earpieces.”

Joy frowned. “Come again? You said that like they weren’t just two random words thrown together.”

“They’re from the electronics development branch, an alpha test--they transmit and receive over a radio frequency we can specify for long-range communication in the field. The intent is to use these for field operations in the coming years, once the technology is perfected. I figured we might have a good use for them. I--” she held one up, putting it in her own ear, “can talk into this, and you can all hear me as long as we’re within range. It’ll keep us on the same page, and gives us an extra edge.”

Yeri yawned, and Wendy honestly couldn’t tell if it was for effect or not. “Okay, thanks for the science lecture. Next?”

“How long have you been planning this?” Wendy asked, quietly. She eyed the set of the four remaining pieces still encased in the foam--one for each of them.

“A long time,” was the only response she got--and she hated that she was still disappointed by the lack of openness.

“Can I ask another question, then?” Seulgi asked. “How did you get all of this?”

“I used to have a friend on the inside.” Irene offered, a noncommittal shrug with the sentence.

Joy frowned at that. She looked at Irene for a long moment-- _asking for permission, maybe?_ \--and then gestured for Seulgi to look at her. “She used to _be_ the friend on the inside.”

“Until..?” Yeri prompted, suddenly all ears at the hint of internal drama, or the scoop on the mysterious Bae Joohyun.

“Until we found out that some of our friends weren’t really friends at all,” Joy scoffed, and there was an amount of bitterness in her tone that couldn’t--or wouldn’t--be masked. “Until--”

“Until I wasn’t. Now, Yerim--you are our eyes and ears. Everywhere we go, you’ll be the first to see and hear anything and everyone that’s coming at us, and you’ll be letting us know through the earpieces.

“The first to run into anyone that might beat us up,” she deadpanned, raising a brow.

“Of course not. You are to stay well out of sight and out of mind. You’re to stick exclusively to the shadows, and Sooyoung and Seungwan will never be far behind, in case you run into any trouble.”

Wendy nodded, having expected that to be her role. “Any suggested takedown methods? Anything to avoid in particular?”

Irene locked eyes with Wendy for a long second before replying, and Wendy almost forgot to listen for the response. “I’d prefer a non-lethal trail,” she stated, and moved on when Wendy nodded silently. “Seulgi, you’re our base. Just like the last one, you’re to stick to the car unless there are some extreme extenuating circumstances, and you’re to keep us notified if anyone rolls up from the outside.”

“What are ‘extenuating circumstances?’” Seulgi asked, concern lacing her features.

“You’ll know. Now, as for our current objective--” She slid her finger under the flap of one of the folders, sliding out the contents and laying them down. “This comes in two fairly simple steps: getting in; and getting out.”

“The average Friday night,” Joy joked, leaning her elbows on the table. She rapped her fingers against her cheek, deceptively nonchalant. “So we get in, grab this letter--or whatever it may be--and get out? Easy as that?” Her voice dripped with a doubt that was not unkind, but more uncertain. Wendy could not wrap her mind around the trust this woman seemed to place in Irene, and why, ludicrously, Wendy wanted to do the same.

 _‘Blind trust is synonymous with a death wish,’_ Wendy had once been told. _But what did it matter when part of you was already dead and gone?_

Irene tilted her head from side to side, half conceding to Joy’s statement, but Wendy frowned--a quick grab of an envelope shouldn’t require a team of five near-strangers. She voiced this concern.

With a sigh, Irene then continued, spreading the pages across the table. “Right. So, admittedly, it’s not that simple. The security of this building is the top-of-the-top, and the stakes if we get caught--well, they’re higher than I’d like to have to mention.”

“And you want to go nonlethal,” Wendy added.

“And you don’t want to leave a single trace,” Yeri pitched in.

“And you don’t know if this information is up-to-date,” Joy said.

“And you seem to think we’re capable of actually working together without a hitch,” Seulgi threw in, brow raised.

Irene’s lips quirked up in a small smile. Perhaps she found the term ‘challenge’ to be synonymous with ‘suicide mission.’ “ _And_ , we’re going to do this in broad daylight, during a public media release event.”

That one hit them hard. They sat in a stunned silence for a fraction of a breath, before Yeri broke the tension. “Oh, okay, I see,” she drawled, eyes wide. “I see what’s going on here. You’re insane. If I try to walk out the door right now, are you gonna try to kill me?”

Irene rolled her eyes--so none of this doubt was new to her, at least. _She’s used to working with non-believers,_ Wendy thought, suddenly, bizarrely. “Have some faith, Yerim. Let me explain. It’s not so much that we can’t be _seen_ , it’s more that--”

“--we can’t be _recognized_ ,” Wendy finished, coming to the conclusion a split second before Irene said it. “We’re going undercover? As--what, as reporters?”

Irene was smiling. “Naturally. You and Yerim are, at least. Sooyoung will be dressed as security. I’m just a generic civil servant, invited to hear the speakers. Seulgi--if necessary, you can be prepared to intercept the scene as some authority figure--police, or something, I’m sure we can find you something. It shouldn’t be necessary.”

“Why do I have to go with Wendy?” Yeri asked, at the same time Wendy said, “Why am I not security?”

They looked at each other, surprised, and Yeri snorted. “No offense, but even I know that no one would believe you’re security. I just didn’t want to go with you.”

“You’re sure this isn’t a sort of terrorist attack?” Seulgi was asking, over the sound of Yeri and Wendy bickering. “This isn’t about to be you intercepting some sort of peace agreement? I don’t distrust you, but you’re not making a very good case for yourself.”

Irene nodded at that one--it was a clever thought, and she appreciated that. “I know I’m not giving you a lot of reason to trust me, but I think it goes without saying that a peace accord is the last thing on the minds of the people running the show. Why would I waste so much time and money on four strangers just to get myself killed? I could do that on my own.”

“That’s fair enough,” Seulgi said, as if that was that.

Wendy held up a finger, another, unrelated, question having lingered in her head. “Before you really get into it, I had meant to ask you earlier. When we were meeting with Yerim, the man in the diner--was he--”

“Oh, he just lives a few blocks off the main highway. A very nice man, actually. He feeds the stray cats around there. Completely harmless.”

Wendy nodded, appreciative of the deception. “That was just to motivate her to come with us, then? A false sense of risk?”

“Of course,” Irene replied, smiling gently, and that _certainly_ was doing things to Wendy’s head. “What am I supposed to do if you continue to go revealing all my tricks like this?”

 _Friendly banter? What is this?_ “Better keep up, Joohyun,” she found herself saying, smiling right back despite herself.

“God,” came Yeri’s voice, who had left the couch to seat herself on Wendy’s other side, “are they always like this? Is it too late to unsign my contract?”

Wendy pulled her gaze away from Irene. “Hey, listen--”

“Professionalism, please girls!” It was Joy, but she looked positively thrilled that none of them were being the slightest bit professional. She was thumbing through the papers in the manila folder Irene handed to each woman, her pseudo-academic posture belying her amusement.

The folder placed in front of Wendy seemed unassuming enough, unmarked and unwrinkled. She flipped it open, scanning quickly over a series of snapshots and names of local politicians and small diagrams of governmental buildings.

Seulgi leaned over the table across Yeri, angling her file so Wendy could see it. Her index finger tapped on the table on the second page, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Ah, Seungwannie, do you remember—”

“Oh my _god_.” Joy had slammed both hands on the table, mouth agape, and Irene jumped at the sound. Seulgi’s sentence died in its tracks. “‘Seungwan _-nie_?’”

Wendy slowly looked up from the file to meet Joy’s eyes, dread pooling in her stomach, heat creeping up to the tips of her ears. _‘Professionalism,’ my_ ass _._ “Do _not_.”

Yer let out a loud hoot of laughter. She slapped Wendy’s arm, grin plastered across her face. “Seulgi, you wonderful human being, you. Motion to change Wendy’s name to the far, far cuter ' _Seungwannie_ ' for all official and unofficial business from here on out?”

“Seconded!” Joy offered, and Wendy blinked, mildly horrified. Between the beginnings of a terrifying duo before her eyes and Seulgi’s knowledge of her college days, she was starting to think this combination of women was a grave mistake.

Brow furrowed, Wendy dropped her copy of the file onto the mahogany with a scowl. She narrowed her eyes at the girl to her left, and then leveled her gaze across the table at Joy. “What happened to being professionals?”

Joy continued, with pure, unadulterated glee, mission and planning taking a spot on the shelf in lieu of tormenting Wendy. “It’s called being amicable with coworkers. Oh my lord. I’m never calling you anything else. _Seungwannie_.”

“Seulgi, what have you _done_?” Wendy hissed, and Seulgi’s grin only grew wider.

“See? I told you, I trust these girls.”

“Please, girls, the job?” Irene waved her own file in the air, her voice gentle as always. There was something in that quiet voice that commanded a deep respect, though--Wendy couldn’t put her finger on it, but she wasn’t alone. Almost immediately, the table quieted down.

“Thank you,” Irene said. With a quick glance at Wendy, her eyes sparkling, she directed her voice to the rest of the room. “So, as Seungwannie was saying--”

To the sound of raucous laughter from the group, Wendy let her head drop to the table, partially in exasperation, but mostly to hide the smile that was threatening to show itself.

When Wendy would look back on this moment--she would snort and wonder if it was the moment where everything really began to go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mr. e saved my summer and also my life. don't forget to stream power up!! 
> 
> lots of talking this chapter. a little more action coming soon.

**Author's Note:**

> The film noir aesthetic gets me every time. Hi hello friends, I am back with a new story.
> 
> Title from Mr. and Mrs. Smith (You don't dance. / It was just my cover, sweetheart). Let me know what you think! (also here is my [twitter](https://twitter.com/newboldtrue), feel free to talk to me/follow me/remind me to update!)


End file.
